


Let's Get Lost

by carlyraejepsen



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Banter, Hand Jobs, Idiot Bisexuals, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, You Already Know What TF Going On, brief mentions of Carly Rae Jepsen, gray. is. valid., uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carlyraejepsen/pseuds/carlyraejepsen
Summary: “I think… it’s only getting weird ‘cause we keep lingering. We’re just like, little by little, in tiny increments or whatever.”“Sure, okay.”“So you know what I think?” Gray rolls over close to him so that he can hear him better over the music. He pushes a hand through Tobin’s hair, whispering against his ear, “I think we should just make it all-the-way weird.”





	Let's Get Lost

“Again, I’m super sorry that Alm couldn’t show up,” Tobin says for what feels like the millionth tonight as he stands awkwardly by his doorway, Mae and Celica gathering their things. Mae seems hesitant to leave, but it was obvious that Celica had very little interest in coming over to drink with him and Gray alone, and that that stupid responsible green-haired sonofabitch was the only selling point of the evening altogether. Alm had blown them all off just to study.

It was the first time Tobin had had actual company over at his new apartment— sure, Gray insists on calling it a “shack” or a “dollhouse” due to its size, and _sure_ , everybody had to sit against the walls or on his grounded mattress in the corner of the living room/bedroom because he doesn’t have much furniture yet, but the apartment is neat and clean and organized, and it’s faced in a direction where the sun shines in all warm through the windows every morning. Plus, he likes the tiles in the little bathroom that you have to walk through the sliding-door closet to get to. And all his classes are within reasonable walking distance.

Tonight was also the first time he’d been formally introduced to Mae, whom he’d only known as that one pretty pink-haired girl who works at the smoothie shop in the campus gym. Mae is an absolute riot. She and Gray had totally hit it off, and the three of them had some pretty good laughs, but Celica was left almost completely in the cold. She was just talking about Alm the whole time.

“It’s completely fine,” Celica says, smiling, combing a hand through her wavy hair. “Thank you so much for the sodas, you guys. It was nice to catch up— oh, wait,” her hand seizes in her hair, and she asks confusedly, “Where’d my headband go?”

“Oh, I think you left it in the kitchen. It’s the yellow thingie, right? C’mere,” motions Gray, rolling up from off the side of the wall and leading her beyond the gap in the wall opposite the closet/bathroom in which there’s a tiny dining table with no chairs and a tiny kitchen with a barely-stocked fridge.

Tobin and Mae are left alone by the door; after Mae pulls her purse over her shoulder, her eyes flash like she’s remembering something, and she pulls him in by the collar of his sweater. Quietly, she says, “Oh, hey, there’s something I wanted to ask before we left.”

And Tobin’s never had a pretty girl yank him forward by his shirt before, so he doesn’t know what to expect, doesn’t know what else to do but go red like an idiot and stutter, “Y-yeah, go ahead, man.” Fucking God, why did he just call her _man?_ He’s such an idiot—

“What the hell is going on between you and Gray?”

His eyes go wide. He stares at her confusedly for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “Uh, what do you mean ‘what’s going on’? We’re... we’re _friends_.”

“I dunno, the way you two talk to each other? You sound like an old married couple. I thought you might be in love with him or something.”

“Yeah, like how you're  _madly_ in love with Celica,” Tobin snorts, still keeping his voice down because they could literally come back in at any second.

For some reason, Mae goes as pink as her hair. “... Is it that obvious?” she asks, chuckling. Holy _shit,_ this conversation did _not_ go where Tobin was expecting it to go.

“Wait, really?” When Mae nods, Tobin practically loses his mind. “Oh, dude, that’s _great_! Celica’s the sweetest, and—”

“And she’s the _straightest,_ too. She's always just talking about Alm.” She grimaces, glancing behind herself to make sure that the two are still in the kitchen, then mocking in a high-pitched voice, “ _‘Ooh, Alm this, Alm that, oh, wow, Alm just adopted a new cat, let’s go see it, oh, Alm just became the first student at Zofia State to suck his own dick, how inspirational!’”_

They both try to choke down their laughter, but Tobin feels an ache of sympathy, having been shown up by Alm all his goddamn life. He says, “Damn, I’m sorry,” but Mae seems to brush it off.

“I’ll get by. I just wish she had better taste. I mean, I love her, but the guy looks like a head of fucking _lettuce.”_

“Found it!” Gray states loudly, and they separate themselves a little bit as him and Celica reappear, Celica with her yellow headband in tow. “We should do this again sometime, Celica. And Mae— always a pleasure,” he says in a fake-suave voice, offering her his arm. “Shall I walk you ladies to your car?”

“Oh, we took the monorail here, but I’d love for you to walk me somewhere _else_ sometime,” Mae giggles, squeezing Gray’s forearm and kissing him on the cheek. Celica and Tobin both roll their eyes. “You still have my number, right?”

“‘Course I do. Saved under ‘Badass Pink Queen _’_ , as per your request. With, like, five or six crown emojis.”

“Perfect. See ya soon,” Mae links arms with Celica, giving Gray one last kiss and Tobin a pat on the head and a knowing look before the two make their leave. Gray and Tobin stand in the doorway for a few moments afterwards, still in a strawberry-scented daze. He can cross Having Girls Over off his checklist for christening his new apartment. Or whatever the Jewish equivalent of “christening” is.

“... When’d you get Mae’s number?” He asks, having set the plan up through Celica.

“Oh, we hooked up a few weeks back.”

“You did _?”_

“Yeah. We’re pretty good friends. She calls me sometimes, I come over, we talk, we smoke, we listen to Sheer Heart Attack, I eat her out. It’s great.” He wheels around, eventually flopping back on Tobin’s mattress, wrinkling the perfectly folded white comforter. “God, Mae’s _awesome_.”

“Then why were you acting like you’d just met her right now?”

“It was a bit.” When Tobin just stares at him, Gray clarifies with, “A gag. A joke. A goof, if you will. We joke around like that. Mae’s just the best. If she wasn’t so into Celica, I’d probably wanna marry her or something.”

Tobin sighs annoyedly, and he starts to organize what little there is in his living room, the ashtray for incense on top of the stereo, the magazine on his desk that Celica’d flipped open. “There’s also the fact that you’re pursuing a long-term relationship with _Clair_ to hold you back, right?”

“Dude— why do you always have to bring that back up?”

“Why do you keep wanting to _forget_ about your problems? God, Gray, it’s like something’s out of your sightline for a second and you forget it exists completely.” He picks up an empty soda can and puts it in the recycling bin in the kitchen. “You’ve got no object permanence. You’re like a goddamn infant.”

“Are you callin’ me _baby?”_ Gray snickers, clasping his hands behind his head. His tank top is too small. He looks like a jackass. “‘Cause that’s pretty forward of you.”

Tobin gives in, taking a seat next to him and taking his socks off, putting them in the laundry basket at the foot of his mattress. “When are _you_ going home, huh, Gray?” he jeers, pressing his fist into Gray’s shin. "Keeping the lights on for you is gonna hike my electric bill up through the roof."

“I was thinking I’d stay at the Barbie Dreamhouse tonight, actually,” he says, pushing his heavy weight onto Tobin until he’s crushing him like when they were kids. “With my favorite Ken doll.”

“You’re fuckin’ exhausting sometimes.” Tobin lets Gray put his strong arms around him, pulling him close until they're in a _very_ interesting position, all tangled up in each other’s limbs like a couple of idiots. When Gray presses a chaste kiss into his cheek, Tobin pipes up with, “Mae told me she thought I was in love with you.”

“Well, aren't you?” Gray asks simply, and Tobin almost chokes.

“It’s— it’s more _complicated_ than that.”

“Is it, though?” Gray attempts to straighten out, pushing and pulling and moving against him until Tobin’s underneath him, blinking stupidly and flexing his legs over and over to keep his blood flow from making him look even _more_ stupid. “Is it really?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He shoves him off, laying beside him, staring at the ceiling. “... Look, Gray, I think we should stop doing this.”

“Doing what? Finding solace in each other's company? Kissing whenever there’s romantic tension?”

“Yeah. Well, yeah to the second one. It’s not normal. And if we’re serious about Clair, then—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tobin, you are so _stupid_ when it comes to this kind of thing,” he laughs, sitting up to hover above him, flicking him hard in the forehead. “Oh my god. I’m gonna go over the facts with you right now, alright? Listen closely: Clair has stated specifically that she’s not ready for a relationship right now, but she will be _eventually_ . Am I in love with her? Yes. Will I continue to stand by and support her unconditionally as a friend when she makes her ultimate decision because I consider her friendship a privilege? Abso-fucking-lutely. But am I gonna waste my college years giving up opportunities to have fun just ‘cause I’m waiting on a girl who doesn’t give two shits about my lovelife outside of her? No, I’m not, ‘cause that’s _bullshit!”_

“Gray, listen—”

“We’re not high schoolers anymore, dipass! We’re not in _Ram_ , population: corn and hell and meth addiction! There are a _lot_ of cool people in this city, and there’s no goddamn gossip mill to stop us from having a goodass time.”

“But— but it’s so _weird_ with us,” Tobin gets a word in as Gray calms down, “It’s not just because of Clair. It’s _always_ been weird with us. And it’s like it gets a little bit weirder every time we’re like this. And all we’ve done is _kiss_. I-I’m worried that it’s gonna get so weird that we won't be able to hang out anymore.”

Gray goes quiet for a little while after that. Eventually, he rolls to his feet again, stretching his arms out and walking over to his crowded desk. He turns on the record player that Tobin got from relatives forever ago as a bar mitzvah gift— probably the most expensive non-necessity that he owns— and he sits cross-legged, pulls out the crate of vinyls from underneath the desk and starts to flip through them. Tobin doesn’t have a good place for anything yet, so things just exist where they’re convenient. Like the random set of knives just sitting out on the kitchen counter because he’s yet to buy a holder for them but there’s no room in the drawers.

“You looking for anything in particular?” Tobin asks tiredly, Gray looking more and more impatient as he searches through his pretty decent collection. Then, his expression softens.

“Oh, yeah, I’m looking for your dignity,” he snickers, holding up the _La La Land_ LP he’d bought on clearance. “Spoiler alert: it doesn’t exist.”

“C’mon, man, put that down. It’s a solid soundtrack. Ryan Gosling’s voice is soothing as hell.”

“God, you are the _whitest_. Wait, hold on a sec,” Gray squints, picking up the crate and looking underneath it as if he’ll find more. “Where’s all the Carly Rae?”

“Why the fuck would I have records of Carly Rae? Doesn’t she only have, like, one song?”

Gray shoots him the filthiest look in the world. “You make me fuckin’ sick,” he sneers. He then pulls his phone out of his back pocket, quickly typing something. “Gonna make you eat those words.”

“What are you doing?”

He picks himself up and walks back over to the mattress, showing Tobin the checkout screen on his phone for purchasing a fucking Carly Rae Jepsen vinyl. “Hooking you up with Emotion Side B, bro,” he says, completely deadpan. “Consider it a move-in gift from yours truly.”

“Don’t you dare buy me that,” Tobin laughs because he has a hard enough time accepting gifts as it is, not to mention expensive music that he doesn't even _want._ “Do you seriously think I’m gonna sit down and listen to an entire album by the fuckin’ ‘Call Me Maybe’ girl?”

“Yeah, I do,” he states, sticking his phone back into his pocket, walking back over to the crate, picking out an album that he can't read and sliding the record out of its sleeve before lifting the needle of the player and setting it down gently. It starts out too loud, and Gray quickly turns the volume down to something a little more reasonable. “‘Cause I’m gonna come over, and we’re gonna listen to it whether you like it or not.”

“Whatever.” At least he picked a good record to play for now— it’s that one super underrated Anderson Paak album. “Is this Malibu _?”_

“You guessed it.” Gray gingerly pushes the crate back underneath the desk with his foot, then flops back down on the bed again, giving Tobin a warm look. “... Do you really think it’s that weird?”

“What?”

“Us.”

“Oh." He scratches his neck. "Honestly? Yeah, I do.”

Gray closes his eyes, breathing out a sigh. He isn’t wearing bangs like he normally does— he’s got a thin black headband pushing all his hair out of his face, making it curl back in dark waves. He always looks nice. Fuck him for looking this nice. “I think… it’s only getting weird ‘cause we keep lingering. We’re just like, little by little, in tiny increments or whatever.”

“Sure, okay.”

“So you know what I think?” Gray rolls over close to him so that he can hear him better over the music. He pushes a hand through Tobin’s hair, whispering against his ear, “I think we should just make it all-the-way weird.”

Tobin shudders at the sensation, and his pulse spikes, and despite all precautions, he feels like a fucking idiot. “W… what do you mean?” he asks, but anyone who’s known Gray for more than five minutes knows exactly what he’s talking about. It’s what he’s always talking about.

“I mean I should really, _really_ spend the night tonight.” Gray’s voice is soft and smooth, and his other hand starts to trace its way up and down his arm, and holy fuck, he’s too fucking _good_ at this. “I got nowhere to be. And even if I did, I think I can always find some time for _you_ , old friend,” he smiles, making something in the back of Tobin’s mind urge him to jump out of bed and run out the front door and never come back.

“... I dunno if that’s a good idea,” Tobin mumbles, but the fact that he wants Gray seems more apparent than ever, blaring in his head like a neon sign.

Gray persistently moves in closer, tracing circles across his arm with his finger. “C’mon, man. Just one night. We’ll ditch all the tension and just go at it,” he whispers. “Think about it.”

Tobin _does_ think about it. It’s all he can think about. His breath quickens against his will, and all he does is stare at the ceiling, trying to will himself out of the situation.

“Whattaya say?” He smirks like he’s irresistible, biting his lip just the slightest. He looks sort of condescending. Gray thinks he has the total upper hand in this situation, doesn’t he? Fuck, Tobin hates when he gets like this. When Gray thinks he can get whatever the hell he wants from Tobin just because he’s super charming and attractive and funny and all-around Tobin’s favorite person in the world. What a smug bastard.

“How about it, huh?” he continues, making an ass out of himself. “How about you face the facts already? I know you want me. I _know_ you want me, To—”

Tobin kisses him before he can finish the sentence just to try and throw him off, and Gray’s arms wrap around him in an instant, pulling himself on top of him. He kisses way too hard like always, pressing too much weight on him and biting too much at his lips, but it’s satisfying nonetheless, all familiar and hot and needy.

Gray hisses, “ _God_ , yes,” in between kisses, and Tobin puts his hands at his waist where his tank top doesn't even reach and he can feel the heat of his bare skin. They just keep gripping tighter and tighter at each other until they’re as close as they can get, until Tobin sounds like he’s having an asthma attack and Gray’s face is flushed all dark and he somehow looks even _more_ handsome when he’s a mess like that. They’ve never done anything urgent like this before; usually their moments together are slow and hesitant, like that time in Gray’s dorm where they were both half-asleep and delirious and the heater was broken, or that time at Kliff’s party where they all got high and Faye dared them to kiss just to see if they’d do it. Or that time out on the tennis courts after senior prom.

“Tell me if it’s ever too much for you, alright?” Gray breathes, still wearing that stupid cocky expression, looking Tobin over again and again even when they're pressed so close. “I know I’m a lot to handle. If you wanna slow down, just—”

Tobin’s hands lurch up to grab the back of Gray’s shirt, pulling it up his neck until he gets the idea and starts laughing, taking it off himself and tossing it to the floor. “ _Damn,_ you’re eager, huh?” he chuckles, and Tobin would almost be embarrassed if Gray’s headband hadn’t been snagged on his tank top, leaving his thick black hair to curl freely out at every angle, or if his torso wasn’t perfectly fucking sculpted like that, or if his chest didn't look even better than how Tobin fantasizes about it when he wears stupid goddamn low-cut shirts— he’s _never_ noticed these kinds of things on other guys, none of them even _compare_ to Gray, he’s so, he’s just so—

Tobin realizes that he’s salivating. Doing this was probably a really, really bad idea.

“It’s alright to stare,” Gray kisses him again, “I have that effect on people. I don’t mind.” His hand slinks down to grip at Tobin’s inner thigh right above his knee— he starts to stroke up, _achingly_ slow, then moves back down before he’s even to the pocket of his jeans, and Tobin gasps _way_ too loud, shuddering like he’s never been touched in his life.

And of course Gray starts laughing at his reaction, kissing at his cheek and his jaw. “How long’s it been, eh, Tobes?” he asks, pointedly squeezing his thigh to elicit another sharp breath. “How long’s it been for you?”

Tobin reluctantly huffs, “A while,” running his hands over Gray’s back, over the wide expanse of soft, dark skin taut over muscle, gripping at his broad shoulders when he meets his lips again, using much more tongue than Tobin would consider necessary.

Gray hums— then, huskily, he says, “I’ll make it so good for you, sweetheart,” and Tobin wants to roll his eyes so badly that he has to squeeze them shut before he offends him. “Don’t even worry. I’ll take care of everything,” he kisses Tobin’s chin, “Gonna make you feel so goddamn good—”

With a grunt, Tobin manages to push Gray over onto his back, thankful that his new full-size mattress is big enough so that he doesn’t hit the wall. He’s still holding onto his shoulders, so Tobin ends up pinning him like that, staring down too close and breathing too heavily; when he realizes the manner of the position, he gives Gray a menacing smile, almost as a joke, almost to try and get him to laugh.

Gray, however, does _not_ take it as a joke. Gray flushes even harder, eyes going wide, chest puffing in and out. He swallows, then lets go of Tobin’s legs, shuts his mouth, and puts his hands palm-up by his head like he’s surrendering.

“... Do you submit to everyone this easy?” Tobin asks in earnest, and _that_ gets Gray to laugh, his eyes lighting up until he’s shaking and has to cover his mouth with one of his hands. “Hey, I’m serious! Like, you’re all talk, and then I roll you over _once_ and you just… I dunno, give in?”

“Only if I think they’ll be into it,” he chuckles, shaking his head a little. “It freaks some people out.”

“What makes you think _I’ll_ be into it?”

“Are you kidding?” He laughs haughtily, “Everything about you says you’ll be into it. That’s your whole thing. You just wanna be the big, strong man who sweeps girls off their feet.”

Tobin feels himself go red. “... Why ‘girls’?”

“‘Cause I assume you’re still telling yourself you're straight. Am I wrong?”

“I don’t— I haven't— shut _up_ , Gray,” Tobin eloquently responds, and he silences him with a kiss when he starts laughing again, pushing against him until they're close as can be. Their kisses quickly grow messier, both trying to clumsily outdo the other. It becomes more and more difficult to ignore how hard Gray is through his sweats, and Tobin can't stop himself from looking down, feeling his grip on sanity dissolve just a bit more.

At once, Tobin can’t control himself— he impulsively shoots his hand down to Gray’s waistband, pulling it down, starting to stroke him. _Fuck_ , that’s weird. He isn’t sure if it’s weird because it’s another guy or because it’s Gray. Both seem equally strange.

Gray is _incredibly_ receptive to his touch, moaning into the kiss as soon as he gets his hand around him, reaching around Tobin’s waist. He backs off to whisper, “O-oh, god, slower,” in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

Tobin realizes that Gray is now completely at his mercy. He appreciates this fact a lot more than he thought he would. They really do know each other far too well, don’t they?

Gray’s head rolls back as soon as Tobin begins to pick up a steady rhythm, moving a hand to softly grasp at Tobin’s wrist, guiding him into it. “So good,” he breathes, “so good, oh, fuck, your hand’s _so_ much smoother like that than I thought,” and his eyes shut and his hair splays out all dark against the white pillows.

“... Why would you think about…” Tobin completes the thought himself, and Gray breathes a laugh as if he’s just read his mind. Gray gets off on the thought of him. Holy fucking hell— Gray gets off on the thought of _him_ , of _his hands._

“I think about this too much,” Gray wheezes, just to confirm it, just to drive Tobin a little more crazy. “ _Way_ too fuckin’ much,” he repeats, and Tobin kisses him again, pressing his length against his own bare stomach and running his palm over it again and again, making him curse all soft and hold his wrist a little harder, close as can be.

At some point, Tobin leans off the side of the mattress to get a pump of lotion from the bottle that Gray’d mocked him for keeping in such plain sight. He sure doesn’t seem to mind it now. It makes things a whole lot easier on everyone.

And Gray’s reeling like Tobin’s doing something grand to him, like it’s anything more than it actually is. He’s huffing and cursing underneath him, lashes fluttering over dark eyes. He gives Tobin the gentlest looks between kisses, warm and safe and endearing, and Tobin feels his heart pound in his head, feels everything start to go slow and strange.

“What are you,” he swallows, “what are you looking at me like that for?”

“I love you,” Gray replies hoarsely, and his train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

“... N-no,” Tobin says, “no, you don’t.” His hand seems to keep moving on its own, fitting around him, letting Gray set a quicker pace. He feels lightheaded, like he might faint or something. “You’re just saying that.”

“Tobin, I love you, man,” he whispers hurriedly, slipping a hand underneath his sweater, “Love you so goddamn much. You mean the fuckin’ world to me. Can’t live without you. _God_ , Tobin.”

“C’mon, hey, you’re just,” his voice cracks, and he tries to force himself to laugh. Gray tenses, shudders beneath him, his face a deep shade that he’s never seen. “You’re just saying that ‘cause my hand’s on your dick, c’mon. You’re gonna regret—”

“No, I’m saying it ‘cause I _love_ you,” he cuts him off, kissing him, running his hand up his back as Tobin pulls harder. “More than I’ve ever loved anybody— _ah_ ,” he gasps, scratching at him a little. It makes Tobin lose his breath. Gray looks like he’s about to fucking fall apart because of him, and it's the hottest thing Tobin’s ever seen in his entire life.

“Look— any second now you’re gonna get off and you’re gonna come to your senses, and you’re gonna wish you didn’t say any of this to me, and then you’re, you’ll, you won’t—”

“I’m gonna get off and I’m _still_ gonna love you, I, I’m _always_ gonna love you,” he kisses him messily, the flat of his teeth pinching his upper lip, “even if I’m with Clair, or, or, Mae,” he lurches up, kissing him between each name, “or Boey— or Catria— or Luthier— or Genny— or _Jesse—_ ” for God’s sake, Tobin doesn’t even _know_ half these people—

And then Gray groans lowly, pulling him into this big, showy kiss where their tongues still meet for moments after they pull apart, and Tobin’s eyes go wide, almost _scandalized_ by it— and then Gray’s coming over his torso in hot bursts, swearing, holding him until it hurts.

In the moment, Tobin’s only thought is how much his new neighbors are going to hate him. He only snaps out of hit when he glances down and ends up taking a good look at Gray with ropes of come streaking all the way up to his chest, pearly and lucid against his skin. His breath rattles in and out.

“You’re… so beautiful,” Tobin says because it's the only word coming to mind. His face burns, his cock aches in his jeans. He wants him more than words can possibly express. Half-mindedly, he takes his arms out of the sleeves of his sweater and pulls it over his head, throwing it to the floor, still perched over Gray as he catches his breath.

“I still…” Gray huffs, abandoning the thought. “Can you get me a towel or something?”

“O-oh, shit, sorry,” he stutters, immediately lurching over the side of the mattress again to pat around for the towel he’d used for his shower this morning. Sure enough, it’s hanging over the hollow shelf in his nightstand, and he wipes his own hands on it before tossing it to Gray. He stays like that for a moment, throwing his legs over to sit up straight, staring at the floor. The music’s still playing. Neither of them had really been paying attention.

He feels kind of guilty. He isn’t sure if it’s because of this or if it’s because of what he said to him earlier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gray wiping himself off, fixing his sweatpants and sweeping his messy hair back out of his eyes. He throws the towel off by the foot of the bed, then leans up, starts to rest his weight on Tobin’s shoulder. “Hey,” he muses.

“Hey.” Tobin feels stupid for being this nervous around Gray. _Gray_ , of all people.

“... I-I meant what I said, Tobin,” he says softly. He seems all weak again. Shaky, almost. “And I wanna take care of everything.” He puts his arms around him and leans on him, and his bare skin feels _incredible_ against his, and, yeah, he’s _definitely_ shaking right now.

“Are you— are you nervous or something?” Tobin asks. “Please tell me if you are. ‘Cause that’s totally fine. You know we can stop if you want, right—?”

“ _No,_ no, I want this,” he nods sharply, “I’m just, I’m just overwhelmed. That’s all.” He kisses Tobin’s cheek gingerly. “Let me do this.”

“... Okay,” Tobin whispers, finding his throat’s gone dry. That’s all it takes for Gray to push him back again, immediately burying his face in his neck, kissing him, biting down. And fuck, he bites _harder_ than Tobin remembered. It hurts so bad when Gray grinds his teeth down and sucks like that that he almost wants to ask him to stop, but he feels like it would be a mood-killer, and it would be embarrassing, so he puts up with the sensation a few more times, gritting his teeth, involuntarily whimpering in a way that Gray tells him is adorable.

It makes his hair stand on end to be given compliments like that. He almost hopes Gray doesn’t notice.

His legs are still hanging off the side of the mattress. When he attempts to change this, Gray stops him, stilling him and pulling him just a bit closer to the edge. Gray then gives him a quick kiss before he rolls off, dragging his hands down his body as he settles on the floor between Tobin’s legs.

 _Shit_.

“Hey, um, you don’t have to, uh, do it like that. Don’t feel obligated, alright?” But Gray’s already unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping his fly and palming him through his boxers by the time Tobin’s still attempting to negotiate with him. “Y-you don’t. Of course, I wouldn't _mind_ it, but, um, Gray, Gray, uh, _Gray—”_

Tobin starts to freak out because Gray’s got his cock in his hand and he’s holding it _dangerously_ close to his mouth, close enough so that he can feel his heavy breath as he studies him. “Yeah?” he responds as Tobin calls for him, and he can feel _that_ too, and it’s all so good that he could just pass out right where he is. He gives him one last look before his lips are suddenly around him, and Tobin sits up and grips the white bedsheets in his fists and practically dies.

Gray’s mouth is hot and wet and _impossibly_ soft, closing tight around him when he attempts to take more and more, wrapping his hand around where he can't reach. He closes his eyes. His tongue presses against where Tobin’s the most sensitive, and he almost fucking kicks him in the gut. At some point, he makes some awful noise like he’s choking, and Tobin puts a hand on the back of his neck and asks if he’s okay about twenty million times.

“It’s… a lot,” he breathes. His eyes are glassy. “It’s hard to fit so much.”

Tobin attempts to pretend that this isn’t the most turned-on he’s ever been in his twenty years on this earth. “You don’t have to. You, you really don’t have to do any of this, oh my god. Fuck.”

Gray simply smiles a bit and responds with, “I like a challenge,” proceeding to run the tip of his tongue up the underside of Tobin’s cock, drawing a groan from him that’s _sure_ to warrant some complaints. He presses kiss after kiss against his tip before taking him into his mouth again, starting to bob his head and stroke him faster in his fist, brows drawing together. He’s got this blissed-out expression like there's nothing he’d rather be doing right now than sucking Tobin’s dick, and when Tobin starts to pant and call his name out louder and comb his fingers through his hair, Gray starts _moaning_ , sealing his lips around him and humming and swallowing and god damn he’s getting spit _everywhere_ and there is _no_ reason why that should be as hot as it is but it _is_ , and Tobin starts looking at his arms again, and then at his fucking eyelashes.

“Oh my god, Gray, oh my fucking god,” he barely breathes, “Gray, you have to, you have to slow down, you gotta fucking slow _down_ _oh my god_ , I’m so goddamn close so you have to, if you don't want me to—”

Gray looks up at him without stopping. Tobin thinks his heart might’ve just flatlined.

“... You want me to,” he tries, and Gray just nods his head to the side like a fucking idiot.

So of course Tobin gives up right then, twisting his fingers in Gray’s hair, seeing white spots behind his eyes when he clenches them tight. His legs straighten up, and he bites his tongue and clasps a hand over his mouth, and for a moment all he hears is his own heartbeat.

He sighs massively when it’s all over, falling back on the mattress with a loud creak. He cranes his neck up and opens his eyes to find Gray wiping his mouth on his forearm, dizzily trying to fix Tobin’s jeans. “The, um…” He coughs, looking over to the other wall. The record’s gone silent. He’ll probably just turn it off instead of flipping it over. “The bathroom’s in the closet, right?

Tobin rubs his eyes, tries to clear his head. “Through the closet, yeah.”

Gray wavers a little when he stands, and he stretches his arms out while he walks through the sliding doors and turns the corner. A few seconds later, Tobin hears the faucet running. “Got a spare toothbrush?” he yells through the thin walls.

“Um, I think so?” He starts to straighten himself out, unsticking himself from the sheet and carefully seeking out the same towel to dry himself off a bit. He’s light-headed and dizzy. He sticks his hand under his pillows until he finds his pajamas, an old Rush t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. It all feels like it'd happened too quickly. “Look under the sink.” He’s pretty sure he bought a four-pack of new toothbrushes while moving in because it was cheaper.

“The what?”

“The sink.”

“Oh… got it,” he affirms. “Can I use the green one?”

Green is Gray’s favorite color. “Knock yourself out.”

“ _Hell_ yeah, _”_ he says, and he sounds so surprisingly elated that Tobin's almost amused.

Tobin changes into his pajamas as Gray brushes his teeth, throwing his jeans and his sweater and the towel into the hamper and giving himself a reminder to go to the laundromat as soon as possible. He only has one full-size towel. Using it like that was probably a really stupid move. Fuck, he’ll probably have to buy another one. Towels are fucking _expensive._

He makes himself useful while he waits to use the bathroom; he turns off the record player and organizes the crate of records again, he refills the water bottle by his bed, he throws away some of the soda cans that Celica and Mae had left. He even folds Gray’s tank top and leaves it on top of his dresser. “Hey, Toboy,” Gray suddenly pipes up, muffled by toothpaste. He spits, then asks, “Can I still spend the night?”

“What, after _that_ shitty excuse for a blowjob? Get out of my fucking house,” Tobin yells, making Gray laugh so hard that something _thumps_ in the bathroom, probably him hammering his fist on something like he does when he cracks up.

“You wanna go any further after this?” Gray asks, and Tobin has to think for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I dunno. Anal or something.” The faucet’s running again.

Tobin actually laughs at the idea. “Hard pass. I’m not into it.”

“Yeah, me neither! I never really got the appeal of shoving something up somebody’s ass. Or vice-versa. It’s not for me, but to each his own, I guess.” He spits again. “Just thought it’d be polite to offer.”

“I mean, if somebody’s letting you stay at their house, you’re _supposed_ to offer anal, right? I feel like that’s customary.”

Gray cracks up, and things feel normal. Eventually, Tobin decides to just join him, going through the closet and hitting the top of his head on the same pipe that he always does before knocking and asking, “You decent?”

“What kinda question—? You and I both know that I’ve never been decent in my life.” When Tobin walks in, Gray’s washing his face in the sink with hand soap. There’s facial soap literally two feet away on top of the medicine cabinet. Gray’s an idiot. “Sorry I’m taking so long,” he says, drying his face on a hand towel. “It always takes a while to get the taste of jizz out of your mouth, y’know?”

“I really wouldn’t know, actually,” he chuckles, looking at their reflections in the mirror for a moment—

Tobin immediately does a double-take, his hand flying to his neck as he discovers several dark-red patches leading down to his collarbone. “Gray, what the _fuck.”_

“What?”

“Hickies? Are you fucking serious? What are we, _fifteen?”_

Gray looks at his neck, then starts laughing again, running his finger over them. They hurt like actual bruises do. “Looks great, man.”

“Are you— what, are you _proud_ of yourself?”

“In a cosmic sort of way, yeah.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” he grumbles, angrily washing his hands in the sink. “I’m gonna look like a fuckin’ asshole all week.”

“Aw, you’re not into it?” He sounds genuinely disappointed. “I’m sorry. Here— you can do me if you want,” he shrugs, pointing to his neck. “At least then we’ll _both_ look like assholes.”

“... No, it’s okay. I’m willing to be the bigger man here,” he says nobly. “Thanks for offering, though.”

“Anytime, Tobean.” Gray gives him a pat on the shoulder before he leaves back through the closet. “So, I get the bed, and you get the floor, right?”

“Sounds about right.” Tobin throws some water on his face, wondering if he can ask Faye to borrow some of her concealer or something. He dries his hands and flicks the lights off behind him, finding Gray standing by the mattress when he’s back in the living room. “Here’s a suggestion, though: I get the bed, and you get the hallway outside the door.”

“Okay, okay, I see what you’re saying, so I’m gonna try to compromise here,” Gray steeples his fingers in front of his mouth: “I get the bed, and you get thrown out the window.”

“Oh, man, that’s fair.”

“Glad we’re in agreement,” Gray sighs, grinning, flopping back onto the ruffled sheets of the mattress. He’s still in nothing but sweatpants. He’s so goddamn fit that it’s honestly obnoxious, and it doesn’t make sense at all.

“Gray, I have a serious question,” Tobin states, walking past the speakers and turning out the lights in the kitchen. It’s all dark except for the lamp on his nightstand.

“Shoot.”

“When do you even work out? I never see you going to the gym, and your schedule always seems so full, and I honestly don’t have a goddamn clue why you look the way you do. Do you roll up to the Rec Center at, like, three in the morning, or…?”

Gray’s brow raises. “Yeah, dude,” he answers, and Tobin can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.

“Are you.. serious?”

“I mean, it’s open twenty-four hours. When it’s that late, there’s nobody staring, and nobody’s waiting to use the machines, so.”

“No fucking way.” The mental image of Gray lifting weights at the campus gym in the middle of the night is almost too much to handle.

“Yeah fucking way. Hey— that’s actually how I met Mae,” he remembers. “She was working the smoothie stop. I wanted me a smoothie. She appreciated a man who could pull off a croptop.” He explains himself with, “I got dressed when it was dark, and I ended up wearing some of Faye’s shit. I looked great.”

“The smoothie shop was still open at three AM?”

“Yeah. It’s a twenty-four-fuckin’-hour gym, man. Nobody takes advantage of that.” Tobin joins him on the bed, pulling the comforter over the two of them. “We ended up fucking in one of the locker rooms. And thus, a beautiful friendship began.”

Tobin sighs through his nose, looking up at the ceiling for a minute. He can feel Gray staring at him. Maybe they shouldn’t have done this.

Then, Gray gently runs a hand through his hair, pulling him closer. After a pause, he asks, “Have you ever thought about going blonde?”

“Dude,” Tobin laughs, leaning up to click off the lamp. “what is it with you and blondes?”

“I dunno, I dunno. How about—” he gets the ends of Tobin’s hair between his fingers, pointedly showing a lock— “how about you frost those tips, eh? You could get a whole arsenal of 90’s Teen Heartthrob looks under your belt.”

“You’re an idiot.”

It’s silent for a bit when they stop laughing. Gray’s still slowly playing with his hair.

“I’m… sorry,” Tobin says into the darkness of the room. “I’m sorry for making this all so weird. I’m sorry that I’m not nice enough to you, and that I used Clair as an excuse with you like she’s not even her own person with her own life. And I— I’m sorry that I keep being confusing. I get jealous of your confidence a lot— how you have the guts to sleep around and everything— and I lash out because of it. I _do_ love you.” More silence. “... And I’m sorry for calling you an infant. And insulting Carly Rae Jepsen even though you like her so much.”

Gray whistles lowly, putting a warm arm around him. “... Well, apologies accepted,” he says, chuckling abashedly. “ _Damn,_  Tobin. Maybe I should blow you more often.”

He snorts. “Shut up, dumbass.”

“Y _ou_ shut up.”

“No, _you_ shut up—”

They end up wrestling and laughing at each other, and then they end up kissing for a while before they fall asleep on the grounded mattress, exhausted and wrapped up in each other’s arms.


End file.
